The Cellar Read Online Free PDF Page B

caught him in the thigh.
    “Okay.”
    Clutching her ankles, he lifted her legs and pulled her forward. Her head slipped underwater. Her eyes and mouth were puckered shut. Her hands slapped the sides of the tub, reached up blindly for something to hold, found nothing, and splashed water. Roy watched the frantic girl, enjoying the struggle, excited by the sight of her skinny body and the cleft at the hairless joining of her legs.
    He let her ankles down. The girl’s face broke the surface, eyes and mouth gaping as if surprised. She gasped air. Roy let her sit up.
    “No more trouble,” he said.
    She sniffed, and wiped her runny nose with the back of her hand. Then she crossed her arms and bent forward.
    Roy twisted sideways. He turned off the cold faucet, and let just the hot water run for a while. The water level rose. Soon it was good and hot and deep. He turned off the water.
    “Let’s switch places,” he said. Standing, he stepped over her. She scooted forward, her rump squeaking on the enamel. Roy sat down, leanedagainst the cool back of the tub, and stretched out his legs on each side of her.
    “Now we’ll get all clean,” he said.
    He lifted a bar of soap from its tray and began to rub her back. When that was slick, he eased her closer so she was reclining against him. Reaching over her shoulders, he soaped her chest, her belly. Her skin was warm, pliant, slippery. He pulled her more tightly against him. He put the soap in the tray. He reached down between her legs.
    That’s when the mother staggered up to the tub, raising a butcher knife. Roy’s left hand rammed the sliding door shut. The knife point thumped the door, and scraped down it. Roy shoved the girl forward. He kneed her away. Pressing the edge of the door to keep it shut, he got his feet under him. The mother lurched sideways. Her left hand let go of her sopping, bloody nightgown and reached for the rear half of the sliding door. Roy held it shut with his other hand. As if there were no door, the woman plunged the knife toward Roy’s face. It’s point hit, shaking the door. She stabbed again and again. The sound from her throat was part growl, part an outcry of pain or frustration.
    Joni gripped Roy’s leg and started to pull.
    “Bitch! Let go!”
    He released the right-hand door long enough to bat Joni’s face with the back of his fist. Her head jerked with the impact. It thudded the tile wall.
    The mother reached for the free door. Roy got to it first and held it shut. Growling with rage, shegrabbed the top runner of the doors. She climbed and pulled herself until she was standing on the tub’s edge. Her face appeared above Roy, eyes wild. She swung her right arm down, slashing toward him. He ducked below the knife’s arc.
    Inches from his eyes, the mother’s red, clinging nightgown smeared blood on the door. She was pressed tightly to the door, her bare feet on the rim of the tub.
    She grunted. The blade whished above him. She propped her left knee on the towel bar halfway up the door.
    Shit, she’s climbing it!
    Roy jerked the door. It slid open, slamming the wall at the front of the tub. Reaching forward with both hands, he clutched the woman’s right ankle. He pulled. His hands slipped on the bloody skin, but he kept his grip. With a cry of horror, she flopped backward. She hit the floor first with the back of her head. She went limp. Still holding her right ankle, Roy climbed out of the tub. He picked up her other leg and swiveled her away from the tub.
    He picked up her knife. He cut her throat with it, then returned to the tub.
    Joni, sitting sideways, looked up at Roy with blank eyes.
    He squatted in the tub. The water felt tepid. He turned on the hot water. When the temperature felt hot enough, he turned the water off and stepped to the rear of the tub.
    He sat and leaned back.
    Taking Joni under the arms, he slid her close between his spread legs until he could feel the press of her against his penis.
    “Now,” he said, and